"This world is full of beauty, like other worlds above;
And, if we did our duty, it might be full of love."
Thanksgiving came round again, being the second anniversary of Mr. Claremont's death. Rosalind had been more cheery of late, and since the walk in the woods where we left her, she had treated Mr. Livingston with more courtesy, but still was very far from being on familiar terms with him. This day, which was spent in a very quiet manner, he was their guest. A sudden change in the weather took place the night before, and a violent northeast snow-storm set in, which continued till late in the afternoon, when the wind suddenly changed again, and the evening was very clear and cold. Rosalind was suffering from a severe cold which combined with the storm to make her feel more gloomy than usual.
In the evening, as the family were pleasantly chatting around the festive board after having done full justice to its contents, they were startled by a rapid knock at the side door. "Will somebody please come and help us, for mother is dying and father is crazy, and the fire's gone out, and what will become of poor little sissy and me?" came in hurried tones from a ragged, but intelligent looking boy of eight or ten years, whose eager importunity was not to be resisted
